


Treasure Hunting

by ObsessedtwibrarianOTB



Category: Original Work
Genre: Flash Fic, Gen, Holocaust, garage sales
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-18 00:24:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7292161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsessedtwibrarianOTB/pseuds/ObsessedtwibrarianOTB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Desperate times call for desperate measures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Treasure Hunting

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Image of two old suitcases
> 
> Author Notes: This story was inspired by the courageous actions of Irena Sendler, and also by a children’s book entitled, Henry’s Freedom Box, by Ellen Levine. The German names used in the story are fictional, created using an online German Name Generator.

“How much for those two old suitcases?”

He stifled a sigh. They had their own pile of junk back at their house. The last thing they needed was to buy someone else’s junk. He really did _not_ like garage sales; he only tagged along because it made his wife happy.

“Honey,” he murmured so as not to be overheard. “We don’t need two suitcases that look like they were new on the shelf in the 1940s.”

She shot him an adorable glare, one he could never resist. “But they have character, babe. If those suitcases could talk….”

He didn’t even bother stifling his sigh this time as he tried to figure out where he was going to store them.

“What’ll you give me for ‘em?” the garage sale dude asked.

They stooped down to give them a closer inspection. She was reading the worn-out stickers pasted all over them, while his fingers went straight to the latches. “They’re both locked,” he said, surprised. “Do you have the keys?”

Guy shook his head. “Naw. I got ‘em at an estate sale real cheap _because_ there’s no keys.”

“There could be something really valuable in these,” she murmured, her eyes dancing with excitement. “A hidden treasure.”

“You never tried to force them open?” he asked.

Garage sale guy shrugged. “Figured whoever buys them could break ‘em open.”

The price haggling began. His wife said negotiation was half the fun at these sales, but he hated it. They finally settled on twenty-five dollars for both. Money quickly exchanged hands while his wife picked them up, expecting them to be empty.

“Babe, there’s something in these. One feels empty, but the other one…something’s rattling around in it.” Her eyes were gleaming at the idea of discovering some valuable treasure that would turn them into overnight millionaires.

He suppressed an eye roll. “Let’s get them home and see what’s inside.”

\-------------------------------------------

 

“Try the rattling one first.”

The suitcases were sitting in the middle of their garage floor. His breaking-and-entering tools—a flat head screwdriver and a skinny Allen wrench that could pass as a decent lock pick—lay beside them. After twenty minutes of cursing he was in. When he finally flipped the latches open, he looked to his wife, silently offering her the honor of having the first glimpse at whatever treasure lay inside.

Grinning with anticipation, she sat the suitcase flat on the floor and slowly opened the lid. His heart sank when he realized they’d paid twelve-fifty for a suitcase containing some stranger’s moldy blanket.

“It’s a baby’s blanket,” she said softly. She very tenderly stroked the mounds of fabric, then prodded a hesitant finger among the numerous folds. “There’s something there,” she said, her eyes widening.

With more confidence, she pulled at the blanket until parts of it were spilling out onto the floor. It was larger than he’d first thought. She finally reached the middle, pulling the last of the folds away and revealing the source of the strange rattling sound.

“Is that a…??”

 _“Holy shit!!!”_ he screamed.  Shocked, he frantically scuttled as far away from the suitcase as he could, until the garage wall met his back, but it wasn’t far enough. His wife was frozen in place, her jaw gaped open, stunned. He saw tears forming in her eyes, and knew his looked the same.

“It’s…it’s a…skeleton,” she whispered shakily, but he heard. “A baby’s skeleton. Oh my god.”

Stunned and silent, they stared at the skeleton of an infant, the pieces of its fragile body now a jigsaw puzzle of disjointed bones. Only the skull was intact, and it was so damned small. _Who would put a baby in a suitcase to die? Why??_

“Open the other one,” his wife ordered softly in a quavering voice. He didn’t want to see another sad, forgotten little skeleton wrapped in a moldy old blanket, but he did as ordered. He had to know.

The second suitcase looked the same inside as the first, except there was no skeleton. She searched frantically among the soft folds, the dust of history filtering up her nose and bringing forth a sneeze. When she’d pulled the entire blanket out, the second suitcase finally gave up its long-hidden secret: a yellowed envelope was taped to the inside bottom of the case. It read: _‘To Whoever Finds This, Please Read!’_ in fancy cursive script, the ink almost completely faded in places.

She carefully detached it from the suitcase and offered it to him with a shaking hand. He wanted to know the story behind this tragedy, but he also _didn’t_ want to know. He didn’t want to think about what that helpless child had gone through before it had finally died. He opened the letter and read it aloud:

 

_27 June 1942 - Warsaw_

_My name is Friede Teichmann and I have made a terrible discovery. I know the Nazis’ intentions. We’re being systematically slaughtered. My husband, Walther, was taken away. He’s dead, I’m sure of it. I must save my two precious girls, twins born just three months ago. I know I will not survive this atrocity, but my babies must! Whoever finds this, please understand I knew the risks, that they might not make it, but they would definitely not survive if they stayed with me. With help, we bribed a guard. We had to drug them to keep them quiet and safe from discovery. Kathrin has a birthmark on her right side, just under her armpit. Ilsa has no distinguishing marks. Please give them a better life. If they didn’t survive, please give them a proper burial. And tell them I love them more than my own life._

“One of them made it,” she whispered through her tears.

He hoped with all his heart that was true.

“But one of them didn’t,” he said sadly.

 

 


End file.
